This poem is a tipping point

This poem is a tipping point.
This poem is a woman running.
This poem is a spreading disquiet.

This poem is an orange domino
trembling at the edge of time.
Don’t touch! Even your breath,
even your most gentle thought,
even a memory, can begin
an end. Stay where you are.
This poem is a tipping point.

This poem is fleeing a fire. It
knows how. Last time, it was
chased by a flood. That was
before the sky shrivelled into
a brown ribbon, empty of
tears. It carries all that is left
of life, in its arms. Don’t stop it.
This poem is a woman running.

This poem is the rumble of an
oncoming train, that only the
track can hear. This poem is the
sound of imploding stars, travelling
through the colourless void. This
poem is the noise of a river
gathering courage before it leaps
off the final cliff. Whisper. Scream.
This poem is a spreading disquiet.

This poem is the first russet
leaf to fall, the herald of unbearable
winter. This poem is a mother
holding her dying child
in a tent. This poem is an echo:
a sound that can find no ear.

***
This poem is written in Hannah Gosselin’s Boomerang Metaphor form. Been wanting to give this a shot for years now. My favourite poems in this form are by Sherry and Sumana.

Written for Desperate poets: An odd poetic form in response to desperate circumstances.

If you’ve tried this form before, do share the link.